


cybernetic

by ilikeyougreenie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Android Shiro, M/M, Neon Aesthetic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SHEITH - Freeform, dystopian au, protective keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyougreenie/pseuds/ilikeyougreenie
Summary: Takashi Shirogane is the half finished prototype of the KUR-0 android, recently escaped from the hands of the Galra Elite after undergoing severe experimentation. It stumbles into the world of Keith Kogane, an orphaned scavenger who knows how it feels to be at the mercy of the Elite.(or, the dystopian android au that nobody asked for but i wrote anyway)





	1. if i seem dangerous, would you be scared?

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! pls, take this mediocre fic before i second guess myself any more. i can't promise regular updates (#studentlife), but will do my best to keep 'em as regular as poss, if people want more!! any mistakes are my own. enjoy, and thank you for clicking!

The KUR-0 android prototype was in the early stages of development when it was compromised.

 

It was one of a kind; a new, shiny upgrade to the previous model. It was revealed to the public in a grand ceremony in the middle of Daibazaal, Captain Zarkon of the Galra Elite doing the honours and dropping the curtain on their newest creation.

 

The android itself stood in a glass cage; lifeless, but eerily humanoid. The crowd were silent as cameras zoomed and panned over the KUR-0’s features and boosted them to the many screens around the square. Its features were smooth and even, made from a metal so pale and pearlescent it looked almost white. That pale metal continued down the column of its long throat, across its bare chest, and down further. Almost its entire body was pale and smooth and so utterly human that a child in the third row began to cry.

 

However, the android did not look entirely human. Dark, silky hair and smooth skin aside, the KUR-0 was far from human. Its right arm was plated entirely with gunmetal, that thrummed with the violet energy everyone had come to associate with the Galra Elite. The joints - shoulder, elbow, wrist, and fingers - appeared to be made of black silicone, likely for advanced movement. Its right leg was much the same, extending up to the top of its thigh.

It would, without doubt, be beautiful once complete. A beautiful sentinel built for the protection of Daibazaal.

 

Keith Kogane, however, was unconvinced.

 

He and his friends stood near the back of the crowd, watching the action play out on one of Daibazaal's many large screens.

 

"I understand the aesthetic value, obviously, but honestly? Why the fuck have they given an android abs?" Lance frowned, as the camera panned down across the KUR-0's stomach towards it's right leg, once again plated in darker metal and silicone.

 

Keith barked with laughter, attracting a few disapproving looks from nearby patrons. He rolled his eyes, before turning his attention back to the screen in mild disinterest. "Fuck if I know," He shrugged. "Pidge, you're our resident genius. Got any insight?" He asked, shoving said genius in the shoulder.

 

Pidge sniffed, shoving Keith back twice as hard and smirking proudly as he wobbled. "I dunno, is the honest answer. I can't see any reason to give an android any redeeming aesthetic qualities, but I guess there's a reason I'm not part of the Galra." She shrugged, shoving her glasses up with her middle finger before turning back to her data tablet.

 

"Maybe he's supposed to give people hope," Hunk suggested, from where he stood at Pidge's other shoulder. "Y'know, they see this big, indestructible android and they're inspired to, I dunno, keep going, cos he looks just like them."

 

"It," Lance corrected, wagging a finger in Hunk's direction. "It's an android, not a human, Hunk. No matter how hard Zarkon may try to make it look like one."

 

Hunk simply shrugged in response, the group falling silent and turning their attention back to the closest screen. Zarkon was giving a speech about how the KUR-0 androids would be the finest yet; beautiful weaponized machines with the capability to decimate entire cities.

 

It sounded a little over the top to Keith, but who was he to judge?

 

Keith's attention began to stray a little, as he noticed a twitch from the cage behind Zarkon. The Captain himself hadn't, continuing his speech as though all was well, but the movement had captured the attention of the crowd. Murmurs began to sweep through, as the humble purple energy surrounding the android became stronger and more vibrant, until it's entire arm and leg were engulfed.

 

And then, suddenly, the cage exploded.

 

The glass shattered with the pressure of the energy within, and the android cowered behind a wall of violet. Its entire body seemed to be made of energy; even its eyes glowed purple.

"It's moving! That fucking thing is moving!" Lance yelled over the now screaming crowd, pointing up to the screen. "I thought it wasn't supposed to be fucking finished!"

 

Zarkon had since been ushered from the stage, leaving it empty for the KUR-0 android alone. It stood tall, thrumming and trembling with the familiar Galra energy that made people turn tail. Much of the crowd had done just that, at the android's unbidden awakening, although some remained to watch the fallout.

 

And a fallout, there was.

 

The pent-up energy within the android seemed to explode all at once, ricocheting outwards in a sonic boom that made Keith's ears ring and Pidge's glasses crack. The android made a vaguely humanoid scream, purple energy seeping from its eyes and through its hair and emerging through cracks in its armoured skin.

 

And suddenly, it fell. And then there was silence.

 

The energy had faded to a faint violet glow, and the KUR-0's body lay crumpled in the middle of the stage. It was lifeless - although whether it had life to begin with, was questionable - likely a broken toy for the reject pile. Its body was covered in cracks that oozed a dark, vicious liquid, and the android's dark hair was now a silvery white.

The crowd began to come together again, murmuring to one another as a Galra soldier crossed the stage towards the fallen android, boots crunching on the shards of glass. The soldier stooped, roughly shoving the android over onto it's back and grabbing its right arm in order to drag it off the stage.

 

The KUR-0's eyes flickered open, and it drove it's right arm through the soldier's stomach.

 

The crowd screamed along with the soldier as the android pulled it's arm back, glowing violet beneath the gore and blood. The soldier writhed in pain on the stage, his comrades frozen in the wings as the KUR-0 stood, his gaze flickering over the terrified crowd.

 

It looked - afraid?

 

One eye glowed a dull, broken yellow, marred by a crack in its right facial plate, while the other looked painfully human. It landed right on Keith, almost pleading for a moment, before the android turned and leapt off the stage. It broke into a run, cutting through the crowd and down an alley that led to god knows where.

 

All hell broke loose, but no one tried to follow. 

 

* * *

 

Keith had long since parted from his friends after the debacle at the launch and was making his way home. He lived in what was essentially the shitty part of town - although most of Daibazaal was shitty, to be fair.

 

Perks of being an orphan, he supposed.

 

He couldn't complain, however. He had a roof over his head, no matter how cramped and small said roof was. Keith lived in a block of flats on the edge of Daibazaal's main district, in a corner apartment with a living room and kitchenette. He had a television and a lumpy couch, so he supposed it could be worse.

 

Keith was almost home - literally, his flat was in sight - when he heard a quiet whimper from up ahead, behind a dumpster. He stopped, ears pricked, and this time a choked sob rang out along the alley.

 

Keith cursed silently, approaching with caution. You couldn't be too careful in Daibazaal. It was difficult to discern who on the street was genuine and who was lying in order to attack you, but Keith considered himself something of an expert on that subject by now.

 

He gripped his knife - dark slate grey with a purple stone in the hilt - as he rounded the dumpster, steeling himself for fight or flight.

 

In the end, Keith did neither. For, sitting there, was the KUR-0 android.

 

"What the fuck?" Keith breathed, as the android looked up at him in a mixture of shock and anguish. Its right eye was half-lidded and dull, while it's left was steely grey and framed by thick white lashes.

 

"Please, do not," The android pleaded, trying to scramble to its feet. It scrabbled for purchase, but its right limbs were weak, and it fell to the ground. "Please, I am human, you cannot-"

 

Keith frowned.

 

Never once in his life had he heard of an android that pleaded for mercy. Androids were valiant, brave, and stoic, and would rather die than get on their knees for anyone. And yet, this android - the KUR-0 android, no less - was pleading with Keith Kogane for its life.

 

Keith tucked his knife away and kneeled in front of the android. It shied away from him at first but settled as it realised that Keith - for some reason - wasn't going to hurt it.

 

"I am human," The android whispered, reaching towards Keith with its left fingers. Human - flesh, blood, bone - fingers, Keith realised now. Not pale, pearlescent metal, but skin, with tissues and fissures and nerves and veins and blood and a life source. "Please, I am human, I will tell you everything."

 

Keith felt compelled to believe it. Perhaps it was the desperate, white lashed gaze, or perhaps it was the touch of those fingertips against his own.

 

Keith nodded, slid an arm around the android, and helped it inside.

 

* * *

 

Keith had helped the android into the seat by the window, where it could look out at Daibazaal and the glowing neon signs that blinked high above the city. The closest one - an advertisement for Kaltenecker shakes in pastel pink and lime green - threw light down through the window, bathing the android in a pale glow.

 

It was beautiful. Subjectively, of course. Keith knew that much.

 

It was still mostly naked, and Keith saw now that the cracks in its armour were in fact gashes in its skin, and the viscous dark liquid dripping onto Keith's carpet was in fact some kind of blood.

                                                                                      

The android didn't seem to notice, however, which was startling considering that there was literal flesh underneath, rather than wires and circuitry.

 

Keith collected the first aid kit from the bathroom, along with the last two bottles of Nunvill from the fridge. He approached the android carefully, making his presence known a few paces away, and setting his inventory down on the table carefully.

 

The android tore its gaze away from the neon Kaltenecker up above and turned it towards Keith instead. It watched, with one yellow and one grey eye, as Keith set about preparing a patch of cotton wool and soaking it with antiseptic.

 

“This’ll sting.” Keith murmured, as he knelt in front of the android and began to clean the blood from its wounds, concentrating on the ones that looked as though they may need stitches. The bleeding had stopped, for the most part, and the blood had congealed along the fleshy edges of the wounds. The android held still as Keith cleaned it up, letting out a tiny huff of air as he leaned in close to work on the crack across it’s face.  


“Beautiful,” It said softly, almost imperceptible were it not for Keith’s proximity. He gave a low chuckle in response, dropping the bloodied cotton onto the table and reaching now for a needle to stitch the wounds closed. “I am sorry,” The android backpedalled after a few silent moments, bathed only in the soft neon glow from outside. “It’s just- I’ve been in captivity for a long time. There is nothing beautiful about the Galra.”

 

Keith paused at that, his gaze flickering up from his work to meet the android’s shuttered gaze. “Captivity?”

 

“I told you I would tell you everything,” The android sighed, rubbing its metal palm up and down it’s metal thigh. “It is a long story-”

Keith shook his head, pulling the stitching thread tight through the eye of the needle. “Talk. I’ve got plenty time.” He encouraged, as he knelt down between the android’s legs to begin the task of stitching its wounds closed. Its muscles rippled beneath Keith’s touch, and his brain so helpfully reminded him of Lance’s earlier abs comment.

 

“Alright,” The android acquiesced, after a silent soul-searching exchange with neon Kaltenecker. “My name – my human name – is Takashi Shirogane. I am not an organic android, as you may think. None of us are. I am human, but I was taken in by the Galra after the War, like other injured veterans.” Keith nodded. He remembered that part; Zarkon had announced that he would be open his facility up to all injured veterans that had made it back after the War, to help them rehabilitate and recuperate.

 

“I went willingly. We all did, because we thought we would be saved. Little did we know, we would be experimented on, and turned into androids. A KUR-0 android, I believe they called me,” He gave a humourless chuckle, barely flinching as Keith pulled the needle and thread through his flesh. “It was kidnap, and torture, not rehabilitation. They took my arm, and my leg, and even my eye. They tried to take my humanity, but I suppose it appears as though I have been compromised.”

 

Keith looked up as the man – Takashi Shirogane – paused, and he felt his heart pull towards that white-lashed gaze. He quelled the feeling and continued his work, as the man continued to speak.

 

“I was supposed to be a prototype, of the new KUR-0 androids. They failed, but they will come looking for me. To continue the process, I suppose. To fully convert me. You did not have to spare me, but you did. And for that, I am grateful. But I must leave. I cannot bear the thought of putting such a soul in danger.” Takashi Shirogane went to get up, but Keith held him down with a hand in the centre of his chest.

 

“Hey, no. I’m not finished, alright? At least let me get you stitched up, then we can have a conversation about this. You don’t have to go through this alone.” He said simply, tying off the final stitch and snipping the thread. Takashi Shirogane was silent, and Keith looked up to find that yellow eye trained on him in wonder.

 

“Who are you?” He breathed reverently. “Why are you so willing to help a stranger?”

 

“Keith. Kogane,” Keith smiled, as he reached for another length of thread for the next open wound. “And let’s just say that I believe you, for whatever reason. I know what it’s like to be fucked over by the Elite.” ****  
  


* * *

 

Once Keith finished stitching Takashi Shirogane back together, he cleared his equipment away and washed his hands. The only clothes he had to offer were his own, and the fabric of his dark, faded t-shirt pulled tight across Shirogane’s chest.

 

“I suppose we should try and get you some clothes tomorrow,” Keith sighed, uncapping both bottles of Nunvill and handing one to Shirogane as they settled onto the lumpy sofa, on opposite ends with a depth between them. “There’s a market in the middle of town, that I usually go to on Sundays. You should come with me.” Keith said, as he leaned forward for the remote and switched the television on. It flickered to life, throwing pale blue light around the room and over the man sitting on Keith’s sofa, reflecting with the glow of his yellow eye.

 

“You do not have to do all of this for me,” Shirogane said quietly, picking at the paper label on his bottle. “I will be fine. I will be out of your hair tomorrow. I promise.”

 

Keith scoffed at that, flicking through channels of adverts and infomercials until he landed on a popular game show, Garfle Warfle Snick. Keith didn’t have much time for the show, but the tinny audience laughter provided substantial background noise.

 

“And where will you go? You’re a half android on the run, wanted by the Elite. You’d be captured within a second,” Keith countered, turning to face Shirogane and leaning against the arm of the sofa. “You can stay here. With me. Until we figure out what to do about all of this.”

 

“There is nothing we can do,” Shirogane sniffed, taking a tiny sip of Nunvill and crinkling his nose at the taste. “The Elite are the Elite. We could not do anything, even if we wanted to. I would give anything to take Zarkon down, and free all of the other veterans that he is torturing. But, I cannot. And neither can you.”

 

“Who says?” Keith raised his chin in defiance, as Shirogane’s gaze flickered up to meet his own. “I’m not saying we go in all guns blazing, as much as I’d like to. I’m saying we lay low for a bit, we gather information. We don’t even know what he’s preparing these fucking androids for.”

 

The pair fell silent after that, Shirogane staring at the television blankly while Keith watched him in turn. He was utterly breath-taking, with the artificial light from the television dancing across him. His arm and leg both gleamed; dangerous, yet beautiful. Keith itched to touch, to slide his fingertips across the smooth metal, to see if it was cold or skin-warm.

 

What was he _thinking_? He didn’t even know this man, only knew a fraction of his story, and yet his heart ached for him. The loss – the pain, grief, and anguish – in his silvery gaze was profound.

 

Keith believed him, moreover. He’d been searching for a reason to strike out against the Elite since Daibazaal began, and now, Shirogane held that reason in his very hands. The Elite had taken Keith’s family from him; had beaten, bound and gagged him into conformity.

 

But, not anymore.

 

Keith settled back against the arm of the sofa, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. For the first time in his twenty years, he felt as though he could finally be part of something a lot bigger than himself. Something useful. Something that really mattered. Something that could alter Daibazaal’s future.

 

It would take work. It would take a team. It would take trust. Speaking out against the Elite on the words of one man wasn’t enough.

 

“Shiro,” The man in question said quietly, staring at the bottom of his bottle of Nunvill. “That is what my friends used to call me. Before.” He explained, swirling the bottle and watching the liquid slosh around inside.

 

“Alright,” Keith nodded, clinking the neck of his bottle against Shiro’s. “Shiro it is, then."


	2. sometimes i just need a light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blue light from the television fluttered over Keith, throwing his long lashes into shadow on his cheeks. He shifted occasionally in his sleep, causing his dark bangs to fall across the slope of his nose. Shiro itched to lean over and brush them out of the way, and after a short internal conflict, punctuated by the television’s laugh track, he reached over and did just that. The feedback through his metal fingers was dull, at best, but the brush of his fingers against Keith’s skin sent a tingle through his wiring. He tucked the loose strands of hair behind Keith’s ear, tracing the shell of it gently before pulling away, already chastising himself for getting so close already.
> 
> This was dangerous. Trust was dangerous.
> 
> He’d trusted Zarkon and had barely escaped with his life. He yearned to trust Keith – his mechanical body pulling towards him with a familiar sense of longing – but he couldn’t bring his brain to comply. Trust was dangerous, for both involved. Trusting Keith meant putting him in danger, drawing him into the gritty, dark underbelly of the Elite and the tarnished world that Zarkon was building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is!! the second chapter, finally. this one is pretty much just filler; mostly worldbuilding with a bit of backstory. i hope you enjoy! title is from there for you by martin garrix and troye sivan. all mistakes are my own!

Not long after, Keith was lulled to sleep by the low, tinny buzz of the television, and the warmth of the Nunvill in his stomach. Shiro, however, remained awake, sitting upright with his gaze fixed on the television. Every few minutes, his molten gaze would wander over to Keith, slumped over the arm of the sofa with his head pillowed on his bicep.

The blue light from the television fluttered over Keith, throwing his long lashes into shadow on his cheeks. He shifted occasionally in his sleep, causing his dark bangs to fall across the slope of his nose. Shiro itched to lean over and brush them out of the way, and after a short internal conflict, punctuated by the television’s laugh track, he reached over and did just that. The feedback through his metal fingers was dull, at best, but the brush of his fingers against Keith’s skin sent a tingle through his wiring. He tucked the loose strands of hair behind Keith’s ear, tracing the shell of it gently before pulling away, already chastising himself for getting so close already.

This was dangerous. Trust was dangerous.

He’d trusted Zarkon and had barely escaped with his life. He yearned to trust Keith – his mechanical body pulling towards him with a familiar sense of longing – but he couldn’t bring his brain to comply. Trust was dangerous, for both involved. Trusting Keith meant putting him in danger, drawing him into the gritty, dark underbelly of the Elite and the tarnished world that Zarkon was building.

Rationally, Shiro knew that he ought to leave. To go on the run, and risk capture, if it meant keeping this beautiful creature safe and untouched. But, Keith was right. Where would he go? He would likely be tracked and captured within days – hours, even – if he was on the run alone. Keith had offered safety, and who was Shiro to refuse?

* * *

Keith woke with the rise of Daibazaal’s artificial sun, yellow light spilling through the window and onto the floor. He sat up and stretched, an uncomfortable crick in his neck from the way he had lain overnight. The television was still running; it was now on a news channel showing a reel of the KUR-0 android’s escape, with a tickertape along the bottom declaring a healthy reward for anyone that had any information regarding its whereabouts.

Shiro still sat at the opposite end of the couch, his bottle of Nunvill empty on the floor beside his metal foot. He stared resolutely at the television screen; at his own terrified, yellow-eyed expression as he leapt from the stage.

“It is not safe for you, to have me here,” Shiro said quietly, without turning his gaze from the screen. “I ought to leave.”

Keith gave a low chuckle as he stretched, his back cracking as he did so. “I’m surprised that you’re still here, I won’t lie. I half expected to wake up to an empty apartment.”

“I almost did,” Shiro agreed, finally ripping his gaze from the news reel and pointing it towards the floor instead. The carpet beneath his feet was faded and threadbare, once a rich royal, now a dusty navy. “I almost left many times, but I found myself unable to. I do not want to leave.” The ‘you’ went unspoken, but for in Shiro’s mind.

“I don’t want you to leave either,” Keith shrugged, as he stood and curled his toes against the carpet. “You only just got here.” He grinned, leaning down to scoop up the empty Nunvill bottles before heading through to the kitchenette, terrain shifting from carpet to cold tile beneath his feet.

And that was the truth. Keith’s mind was unchanged now, in the cold light of day, rather than the soft, neon tinged night. Shiro had brought a pearl of opportunity, clasped between flesh and metal, and Keith was eager to pursue it. He told himself that it was not out of any fondness for the other man; although if Lance were here, he would almost certainly object.

Keith threw the bottles into the trash and set about putting a pot of coffee on to boil. Shiro had turned to watch him, that yellow eye still aglow even as the room brightened.

“Coffee?” Keith asked, holding up a set of mugs; one black, one red, both well-loved and chipped. Shiro nodded, finding his mouth watering at the mere thought of coffee and the familiar, roasted taste on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything resembling coffee; anything resembling proper food or drink that wasn’t stale green bread or metallic tasting water, for that matter.

“I normally go to the market in Aurora Square, on Sundays,” Keith explained, as he laid the mugs out and leaned against the counter to wait for the coffee to boil. “You’re more than welcome to come with me, although we’ll have to put together some kind of disguise for you.” He pondered the idea, tapping his forefinger against his bottom lip. Shiro’s gaze tracked the movement, before he nodded again.

“I think I would like that. I used to go to the market with my brother, before I was drafted. I have not been for a long time.” He said, his expression softening as he thought of his brother – twin – Ryou.

_“C’mon, ‘Kashi!” Ryou cried, tugging on his brother’s hand as they manoeuvred through the crowd of market-goers. “I want to get some of Sal’s noodles before they’re all gone!”_

_“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Shiro laughed, stumbling after his twin and apologising as he tripped over an older woman’s foot. “Jeez, Ry, slow down! Sal can’t sell out that quickly!”_

_Ryou’s face was serious as he stopped suddenly and turned to face Shiro._

_“Kashi, you’ve clearly never had Sal’s noodles before if you think he won’t be sold out before lunchtime.” Ryou deadpanned. Shiro laughed, trailing off as he realised that Ryou was not laughing with him; in fact, his brother’s expression remained as solemn as before, if not more so at Shiro’s display._

_“Well then, what are we waiting for?!” Shiro shouted, gripping Ryou’s hand again and setting off at speed as his brother whooped and cheered behind him._

“-Shiro? You in there?”

Shiro blinked back to reality, finding Keith crouched in front of him with the black mug in his hands. Steam curled upwards from the top of the mug, carrying with it a rich scent that made Shiro’s mouth water twofold.

“I am fine. Just a memory, that is all,” Shiro said softly, taking the mug from Keith and curling his palms around it. “Thank you for the coffee.” He added, relishing in the scalding warmth against his flesh palm. There was no heat feedback through his right palm, the metal pressing dormant against scored china.

Keith smiled in response, heading back over to the kitchenette for his own mug. “I’m going to get dressed, and to find something for you to wear. Make yourself at home, alright?” He said with a gesture at the television set, now playing a commercial for a single credit store in Daibazaal’s main shopping mall.

Shiro nodded, watching as Keith headed down a small hallway to what Shiro assumed was his bedroom; or what could constitute as a bedroom in a building and area such as this. He turned away as the door swung closed, blocking Keith from view.

Shiro held his mug in his left hand, choosing not to hold it by the handle and instead holding it flush against his palm. The skin would no doubt be tender and burnt red by the time he was finished, but he couldn’t honestly find it within himself to care. He sipped at his coffee idly, alternating between watching the incessant commercials on the television and staring out of the window at the ever-luminescent neon signs outside.

They reminded him somewhat of his new eye, that glowed incessantly with the taint of the Elite.

He was not the man he was before the War – he knew that – and he likely never would be that man again. He’d lost too much; his family; his fiancé; himself. His body was no longer his own, mangled and manipulated by a team of Elite doctors working under the instruction of Captain Zarkon himself.

Shiro took another sip of his coffee. It was rich and smooth, and curled through his veins in a line of warmth that chased away the storm cloud of thoughts lingering at the back of his mind.

He took another sip and concentrated on a commercial for a new virtual reality gaming console that the Elite had funded. He allowed himself to be drawn into the cartoonish graphics and corporate jargon, until Keith made his return to the living room. The red mug – now empty – dangled from his index finger, while a few items of what Shiro assumed to be clothing were draped across his arm.

“Alright, so you’re pretty distinctive – and wanted – so we’re going to have to hide your face the best we can,” Keith explained, setting his empty mug down on the arm of the sofa before laying out the items that he had brought back through. “So, I figured you could just wear that same shirt since it doesn’t fit too bad. I found a pair of pants in the back of my closet that I figured might fit, and boots and socks shouldn’t be a problem.” Keith pointed out the items in question; a pair of dark wash jeans that looked far too big for Keith but about right for Shiro, black socks, and black lace-up boots that reminded Shiro of his army days. There were, however, two more items that Keith had yet failed to mention, and Shiro gestured towards them with a metal finger.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith nodded, lifting both items and handing them to Shiro. “A cloak, and a scarf. Scarf covers your mouth; cloak hood covers your head. If you don’t really look at anyone, I think you’ll be fine. Which is probably easier said than done, at a market…” Keith mused, running this thumb over his bottom lip.

Shiro, however, simply blinked down at the scarf, made of a thick red yarn that was soft to the touch. He set his coffee down by his foot before looping it around his neck and tugging the edge up just enough that it covered the tip of his nose.

“Good?” He asked as he looked up at Keith, slightly muffled by the layer of scarf covering his mouth.

Keith chuckled softly, nodding as he wrapped the ends of the scarf around a new more times. “Yeah, Shiro. Looks good. Just one more thing, if that’s okay?” He asked, bringing a small tub out of his pocket. Shiro cocked his head – it looked a lot like hair product? – before nodding and consenting to whatever Keith had in mind.

Keith unscrewed the lid, handing it to Shiro who let it rest against his outstretched metal palm. The putty inside was deep purple in colour and glowed almost neon. Shiro eyed it warily as Keith scooped a little out and began working it between his fingers, giving a soft chuckle as he made for Shiro’s forelock.

“It’s alright, Shiro,” Keith grinned, as Shiro raised an eyebrow. “It won’t stain your hair purple. It works in clear.” He explained, as Shiro sighed in vague relief before acquiescing to Keith’s makeover. Those long, slender fingers worked through his snowy forelock with precision, until it was smoothed back against the darker hair at his skull. A few loose strands stubbornly remained, and Keith sighed as he tried to slick them back to no avail.

“Your hair is pretty distinctive,” Keith explained, as he wiped his fingers off on his trousers and moved to close the tub of putty. “This is the best I can do with what I have. Feel alright to you?”

Shiro’s eyes had since fluttered closed at Keith’s ministrations, and remained that way still. * He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him with such kindness; the last time someone had cradled him so gently, and not as a weapon.

The last time was likely with his ex, Adam. Their love had not been fleeting; no, rather it had been steadfast and sure – until Shiro had been drafted, and everything had crumbled.

Shiro tried not to think about him now, instead opening his eyes to find Keith still stood before him, fingertips just barely brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes were bathed in concern, the edge of which hadn’t abated since Shiro’s arrival. Shiro smiled and relished in the matching one that pulled at Keith’s mouth. “It seems just fine to me, Keith. Thank you.” He said quietly, feeling the distinct loss of Keith’s touch against his skin as he pulled away with a nod.

“No problem. C’mon, get dressed – and drink up. We’d better head out soon.” Keith said with a gesture to Shiro’s half-empty mug still sitting on the floor by his metal foot. Shiro nodded as Keith moved away back to the kitchenette and busied himself with pulling on the rest of the clothes he had been given.

The jeans were a perfect fit for Shiro – if a little tight across the thighs – and the socks were thick, warm and sat high enough that they hid his metal ankle from any possible prying eyes, as did the well-loved and worn leather boots. The cloak that followed was fraying a little at the edges but was heavy and clearly of a good quality. It fastened with a tassel at the centre of Shiro’s chest, and the hood was deep enough that it covered most of Shiro’s face. Combined with the scarf, only a sliver of Shiro’s skin would be visible.

Keith – who had busied himself with wiping down the coffee machine – looked up at Shiro’s approach, and gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Well, look at you,” He chuckled, taking the now-empty mug from Shiro’s metal finger. “Almost wouldn’t recognise you,” He grinned, dumping the mug in the sink before moving over to the coat rack by the front door. A plastic box filled with a few pairs of boots and sneakers sat on the floor beneath a handful of coats, and Keith stooped to rummage around in it for a moment. He emerged after a few moments with a pleased sound and turned to present Shiro with a pair of suede gloves, lined with thick fur that was soft against his flesh. “Here,” Keith said, helping Shiro slide the gloves on over his fingers. “These will hide your hand. And they’re cosy, too.” He smiled, a little bashful and lopsided as he fixed the elastic cuffs around Shiro’s wrists.

The only real pitfall of the disguise now was Shiro’s yellow eye, that glowed dully beneath his hood. There was little to be done for it, beyond praying that the small throwaway of light would diminish once they got outside.

“Ready to go?” Keith asked, one eyebrow raised expectantly as he slipped his arms into a red jacket. The leather looked soft and worn, the yellow detailing a little faded, the white cuffs greying. It looked comfortable, though; _Keith_ looked comfortable in it. Shiro hadn’t realised that he was staring until Keith began to fidget, pulling at the hem of his jacket and drawing attention to his belt; to the dagger holstered there, imprinted with the purple Elite insignia. Keith followed Shiro’s gaze – yellow and curious – and brushed his fingertips over the knife’s hilt. “Picked this up a while ago. I’m a scavenger, by trade I suppose,” He chuckled by way of explanation. “We usually hand our findings in to Coran and Allura, but I just couldn’t part with this one.” He shrugged, pushing the knife further into the holster until the insignia was concealed from view.

“We?” Shiro asked, tilting his head to the side. Keith nodded, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves that sat at the top of the box and fastening the Velcro around his wrists.

“Yeah, my friends and I; Lance, Hunk and Pidge. We were all at the unveiling when, well…” Keith trailed off with a half-shrug, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Shiro simply nodded.

“I see. I should like to meet your friends, Keith.” Shiro smiled, even as Keith snorted and shook his head.

“No way,” Keith chuckled, patting his pockets before heading for the front door with Shiro in tow, unlocking and locking it with the fingerprint scanner on the handle. “Lance would be jealous of you, Hunk would have no idea what to say to you, and Pidge? Well, she’d probably try and dismantle you – for parts.”

Shiro shuddered at the thought.

“I would rather that not happen.”

“Thought not.”

The pair began along the very alley they had met in, sufficiently dingy in the artificial light of day. Shiro pulled the cloak closer around his body, walking close enough to Keith that their shoulders brushed with each step. A comfortable silence stretched over them for a few minutes, no sound but that of their boots on the cobbles and the distant, robotic caw of the adverts rolling on the screens high above Daibazaal.

“What do you mean, jealous?” Shiro asked eventually, turning Keith’s earlier statement over in his mind. “Your friend – Lance? – why would he be jealous of me?”

Keith’s breath caught in his throat at the innocent question, and he choked into his fist.

“Uh, no specific reason.” Keith shrugged, wiping his nose with his cuff and regaining his composure. Shiro was not convinced, raising an eyebrow at Keith from beneath his hood.

“I do not think that is the truth,” Shiro mused, and Keith flushed slightly. “But I shall let it pass, for now.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence then, Keith guiding Shiro this way and that through Daibazaal’s narrow, angular streets. They eventually reached the marketplace, the aroma of fried street food blending with that of hot motor oil and metal.

Shiro was more than a little overwhelmed by all the commotion, blinking rapidly and pressing close to Keith’s side. They began through the market, Keith pausing at a stall selling an array of knives. Shiro stood at his back, scanning the opposite stalls and vendors as Keith attempted to barter for a short dagger with a rustic handle, engraved with flowers up to the hilt. Across the way was a truck selling fresh battered yalmor, and a group of grubby street kids crowded outside it, catching scraps that the vendor threw out every so often. Alongside the truck was a stall cluttered with what looked to be relics of a time long past; from when Daibazaal was Terra and the Galra were mere citizens rather than the Elite. From his distance, Shiro spotted a few familiar items among the tat, his yellow eyed gaze catching upon an old-style camera like one his grandfather once had.

Enamoured, Shiro took a step, only for Keith to grab his arm and hold him back. He turned his gaze onto Keith, imploring, only for the other man to shake his head.

“You can’t. Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.” He said softly, sheathing his new knife alongside the one with the purple stoned hilt**.

“It is nothing important,” Shiro shook his head, pulling the hood further over his face. “I simply saw something that reminded me of my past. May we continue?”

Keith gave a contemplative hum before nodding, gesturing for Shiro to continue up the market alley. A shrill beep from his handheld had Keith diverting his attention from the stalls for a moment, wandering aimlessly through the crowd with a bewildered Shiro at his side.

“What is it?” Keith hissed into his handheld, and Shiro eyed him warily. He didn’t want to listen into Keith’s conversation, but it was easier to home in on his voice. After so long in Zarkon’s facility, the bustle of the market was overwhelming with varying languages and dialects all overlapping one another. “—fucking told you this morning, Lance! I’m still doing my job, just not with the team. _No_ , I’m not with a boy – for fuck’s sake, I’m hanging up.” Keith grumbled, snapping his handheld shut with a little more force than was strictly necessary. He shoved it back into his belt pouch, shooting Shiro an apologetic glance as he did so.

“Is everything alright?” Shiro asked, his gaze focused solely on Keith even as the other man’s strayed back to the stalls they were passing.

“Hm? Yeah, everything’s fine. Like I said, I usually come to this with my friends. They were just wondering where I was, even though I told them earlier I wouldn’t be with them today.” Keith muttered through gritted teeth, stopping by a stall selling odd bits and bobs for only one credit.

“Oh, well, I would not want to keep you from your friends-” Shiro mumbled, only to be cut off by Keith’s violet glare.

“Don’t even,” Keith shook his head, turning back to a tiny china hippo with a detachable jaw. “I want to be here with you, so I’m here with you. Alright?”

Shiro smiled, nodding as Keith flipped the vendor a credit and pocketed the china hippo.

“Alright. If you say so,” Shiro chuckled, following as Keith moved across to the next stall, displaying old Terran texts with filmy pages. “Oh, and Keith? Last time I checked, I was definitely a boy.” He said, a slow grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as the tips of Keith’s ears flushed red.

“That’s not what Lance meant,” Keith muttered weakly, inspecting the gilding on the spine of an old copy of the Terran Bible. He pointedly didn’t look anywhere in Shiro’s direction but could feel him shaking with laughter at his back. Let him, Keith supposed despite his embarrassment. He likely hadn’t been able to joke around like that for quite some time.

The stall vendor was eyeing them with just a hint of distaste, slapping Keith’s hand away when his fingertips came too close to the book’s pages. “You touch it, you buy it.” The man said gruffly, and Keith backed off dutifully.

“Just looking,” Keith muttered in response, stepping away from the stall and bumping into Shiro. “Sorry, c’mon. Fancy something to eat?” Keith asked, noticing the way that Shiro’s yellow eye was drawn to the food trucks on the opposite side of the market.

“That would be nice,” Shiro nodded. “Might I make a suggestion?” Keith shrugged, motioning for Shiro to go on. “Well, when my brother and I used to come to the market, we would always get noodles, from Sal’s. I do not know if Sal’s still exists, but –”

The man from the book stall cleared his throat loudly, and Keith turned to face him with his arms folded.

“Problem?” Keith asked, one eyebrow raised dangerously. The vendor levelled him with a glare that spoke volumes, dusting his hand along the cover of the book that Keith had been interested in.

“Listen, lovin’ the little story-time session you’ve got goin’ on, but mind movin’ it away from my stall? I’ve got other customers to sell to, boy.”

“I don’t see any other customers begging for your attention.” Keith said coolly, gesturing to the vendor’s empty stall-front. That was, however, the wrong comeback, as the vendor growled and made to round the edge of the table.

“Sorry, Sir! We are sorry, we will leave!” Shiro rambled, grabbing Keith’s arm and pulling him away from the stall swiftly, cutting through the crowd and wincing as he knocked shoulders with multiple market-goers.

“Shiro, calm down, _hey_ -” Keith dug his heels in, gripping Shiro’s shoulder and pulling him to a halt in a quieter section of the market lined with tables for eating.

“No violence, Keith. _Please_ , no violence-” Shiro gasped, pulling the scarf down a little and breathing in fresh air.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Keith soothed, guiding Shiro to sit at the nearest two-seater. “There was no violence, there wasn’t going to be any violence. That guy was being an ass, and I was just responding in kind. Okay?”

Shiro took a deep breath before nodding, furling and unfurling his metal fingers beneath the glove.

“Okay. Yes. I am sorry, Keith. I just – I do not have a propensity for confrontation any longer.” Shiro said quietly, blinking away the memory of his arm plunging through the soldier’s gut, coming away streaked with blood and dripping in gore.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Keith murmured, teeth digging into his lower lip. In truth, such a confrontation would never usually bother him. Hell, he might’ve even carelessly thrown a punch before. But seeing Shiro react in such a way to something that to him was so meaningless put the prospect into perspective for him. “Can I maybe make it up to you if I treat you to some noodles from Sal’s?” He asked gently, and Shiro’s yellow eye glowed gold at the proposition.

“I would like that, Keith,” Shiro nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

* * *

Hunk wasn’t a gossip.

No, that was Lance’s domain. Hunk preferred to keep to himself and allow others that same privilege.

 However, when he saw a familiar head of hair bowed over a box of Sal’s finest noodles, a mysterious hooded figure by their side? Well, he had to tell _someone_.

“You _what_?!” Lance scowled, dropping the Terran games console he had been inspecting, much to the protest of the stall vendor. “You saw Keith? In the food court, with some _guy_?” 

Pidge sighed, shoving her magnifying goggles up into her hair and handing over a few credits for a glittering necklace.

“Hunk didn’t specify, Lance.” She muttered, nodding her thanks to the vendor and tucking the necklace away into her pack.

“He didn’t have to! I _knew_ Keith was acting shady when we spoke to him earlier, let’s go find him and crash his date-”

Hunk shook his head, grabbing Lance’s arm when he went to make a beeline for the food stalls.

“Lance, I wouldn’t. I can’t guarantee who Keith was with, but it was absolutely him. And he looked, well,” Hunk sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and pushing it back over his forehead. “He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him for a while. Date or not, I think we should just let him be. We’ll see him at Altea tomorrow anyway, and you can wheedle him for all the information you want then.”

Lance slumped, defeated, and scuffed the toe of his boot against the dirt.

“You’re right. I just wanna know who Keith’s mystery man is, that’s all,” He muttered, hefting his backpack further onto his shoulder. “Keith never misses a market day with us, not even when he had the flu last winter cycle.”

“He’ll tell us if he wants to, when the time is right,” Pidge supplied, nudging Lance gently as the trio continued through the market. “Even if he never does, we should appreciate the knowledge that Keith is happy, whoever it is that’s making him so. He deserves that much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! if you fancy something else a bit different, i recommend checking out 'world of wilting roses' by my good friend evainevitable! it's an amazing sheith apocalypse au! go give it a read! <3


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